Allison gave her two cents on Sunday’s Girl Talk concert. Here’s mine.

Before the concert, my buddy, Nate Mattise, told me these concerts were supposed to be insane party scenes, and that you’re supposed to dress the part. I took that advice and designed my own Girl Talk outfit, which included a red head band, a green wife beater from H&M, XL yellow Sofie Shorts and neon green gloves from Hot Topic.

The day of the concert, I threw on my gear, drove over with my buddies, including Caitlin Dewey, and stepped out of the car with a business-like attitude. It later became apparent that I was the goofiest looking guy on Cornell’s campus. I was insecure at first, but more pissed that Nate lied to me. I eventually shrugged it off.

I wasn’t prepared for the intense crowd experience that followed after the opening act. There was severe pushing and shoving, and drunk girls plowing through the crowd to get to the middle. It didn’t really bother me until two drunk douchebags did the same thing, except they yelled out: “Sorry, we’ve gotta do it.” That set me off. Once one of them brushed passed me, I gave him a hard elbow to his back. After that, big guys were pushing against my back, and at this point I was losing patience, so I turned around and flipped out. “Hey, back the fuck off!” One of the guys yelled back, “Hey, I’m doing my best asshole. It’s not me. Fuck you.” At that point I gave the guy a dirty look like I was ready throw a punch, and then his buddy stepped in, saying “Hey buddy, take it easy. We’re trying to stand still here.”

The set could not have started sooner. The lights darkened and Greg Gillis jogged to the stage in a gray hoodie. The show was legendary. It was like the crowd blew a gasket, and erupted like people’s feet were on fire. People were jumping up and down, side to side, humping, screaming and it felt spiritual. I’ve never felt that feeling before, where a huge body of people are in the same euphoric state of mind and just moving as one being. It was insane, sweaty, violent and completely fantastic.

At some point I was scared my watch was cutting into peoples arms as I jumped and danced frantically, so I took it off and gripped it hard in my right hand. Twenty minutes later, Gillis started playing a Basement Jaxx mix, and I flung my arms in the air and, disasterously, my watch slipped and shot into the air behind me. There was no going back. That watch was gone, stolen or trampled to pieces. It was a Christmas present from my God Mother. Sorry, Barb.

After the show, my wife beater was soaked with my sweat and sweat from people around. It was like I dove into a pool, and climbed back out. It was disgusting, so I ripped it off after the crowd had dispersed. It was freezing cold outside especially as I walked back to the car half-naked. As I walked back, drunk girls about 30 feet away started hooting at me.